


Sin

by Hambone



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Gaping, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Canon-Typical Violence, Chastity Device, Large Insertion, M/M, Mild Blood, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Pining, Prolapse, Prostate Orgasm, Religious Fanaticism, Religious Guilt, Size Difference, cumming untouched
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29556639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: Alfred takes his duties seriously, for he is the last of the proud, chosen few Executioners. Tonight, he attempts to help a lost soul expel the corruption inside him. The subject of his attempt, however, resembles his dearest Master a little too closely.
Relationships: Alfred/Logarius (Bloodborne), Kidnapper (Bloodborne)/Alfred (Bloodborne)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	Sin

**Author's Note:**

> I love my little religious zealot! Also I just wanted to write more of him in chastity because I've always loved the concept. I like to think he just ravenously wanders the streets some nights looking for cock, though he will never, ever admit that even to himself. Also, I think the Choir boys don't take sexual vows quite as seriously given the level of corruption they operate within, as well as that being stuffy Old religion stuff - they just enjoy having a plump Executioner with a hungry hole and a fat dick to play with. 
> 
> Xoxo, Enjoy!

The night was warm and brassy, insects, well fed and fat, hanging in the air like dust motes under street lamps. Cloaked in his heavy vestments, Alfred felt almost stifled, itching to break free from the dormant haze. It was quiet, all the good people of Yharnam in their beds by now, barely a hunter on the streets, and he had not found sign of a beast yet, not caught the clandestine chatterings of heretics on the prowl. This was good, or course, the peace that all proper men of the Church should strive for, but it was a false peace, one that he could not abide because it did not signify any lack of sinful behavior, only that it was well hidden tonight.

He stalked the streets like a hound, the familiar corners of his territory checked and cleared one by one. Doing as his Master taught him, he searched for signs of combat, disturbance in the stonework, blood without a body, the scent of immorality in dark corners. His steps were heavy and slow, unconcealed so that any who heard him would know him by the whisper of his robes and the jangling of his beads and lay back in their beds, reassured that they were watched over. It was his sacred duty, his mission assigned to him by the Holy Martyr, blessed be His name, and he did it well. That is why he was on edge now, the hairs along his neck raised as he scented the evening breeze, unable to find what evil spiked his throat with bile but certain it was there.

On the steps to the Grand Cathedral, he could see out over the whole city. The moon was nowhere near full, but there was enough light between it and the speckling of lit windows across Yharnam’s landscape to appear as if the night sky extended down into the earth, stars glittering across the buildings. It was beautiful, almost enough to forget the stink of rot and piss and death that blanketed it all. Seeing it thus, Alfred knelt and said a brief prayer.

He had not always been so accustomed to the tall buildings that cut the skyline into an uneven hem. Born and raised in a small town in the country, Alfred had traveled to Yharnam as a boy, seeking treatment in exchange for labor, a common trade still practiced by the Healing Church, mercy for those who could not afford ministration with coin. It was a blood sickness of some kind. The village midwife could not name it, and when he arrived at the Church clinic, they had not bothered to, treating him swiftly and efficiently to keep the beds open for those in far more serious states of disease. It was jarringly quick to him then, from the transfusion table to the streets within a day. He’d been licensed as a Hunter before the night had fallen, and on the hunt the very next. Alfred hadn’t minded, much, hadn’t thought about his birthplace since. He had found his true home shortly after.

In the darkness, down the stairs and into an alleyway, something shifted silently. Alfred knew immediately it was no beast, but did not relax. Tall, robed in black, but without the distinctive silhouette of a clergy member. Certainly not human. He made it clear that he had seen them, drawing the sword from his kirkhammer and readying it.

“Name yourself, stranger, or I will assume you are here in sin.”

They did not, but neither did they cower from his command. Shouldering a large, lumpy shape, the figure padded closer in the shadows. Massive and barefoot – a Pthumerian. Alfred’s posture lessened somewhat, though he remained defensive. The Fair People were not enemies of the Church, under normal circumstance. As those first chosen by the Great Ones, they were a devout and good bloodline, allied with their holy cause and often employed in its service. It was only the lack of any identifying garment that made Alfred question the stranger’s motives, unused to seeing Pthumerians without the clear cut of a proselytizer's hat or the click of a standard uniform’s heel.

“Good sir, may I ask why you hide?”

As the man got closer, his appearance took shape in the low light, melting from the blackness into form. Like all Pthumerians his skin was pale as sea foam, and this man exposed a shocking amount of it, his robe open in a deep vee down to near his stomach. Arcane symbols had been permanently sealed in ink to his flesh, a practice Alfred had heard about but never witnessed in person. A hood covered his eyes, but they were still distinguishable, black as coal above handsomely carved cheekbones, a little smile quirked upon his lips.

Alfred felt himself stir, his heart skipping a beat. It was not the man who elicited such a breath, as Alfred was pure and devoid of lowly attractions, but a memory, deep within his chest, warming him up to the tips of his ears. Master Logarius had too been so pale, paler still than the stranger, like untouched snow, his lips the same gray shade, bleeding darker the closer to the inside of his mouth they drew, his eyes as glossy and deep. They held very little resemblance, truly, but the similarities still alit in Alfred’s mind like candles, drawing forth a private recollection he had tried, so many times, to overcome. It was such that he nearly found himself kneeling, in reverence to a man who no longer lived, as if this stranger could serve surrogate for his salvation.

Embarrassed by the weakness in his composure, Alfred’s eyes narrowed, darted away.

“The streets are meant to be empty of all but those on the hunt. What business keeps you out, at this hour?”

Of course, the people of Pthumeru only woke at night, the daylight too strong for their cave trained eyes. Even those raised up by the Church to patrol the city in their name required large, wide brimmed hats to keep the sun off their faces, blind to all but their immediate surroundings. It did not change the fact that the Church had imposed curfew on the city, nor did it mitigate the strangeness of seeing an unaffiliated Pthumerian above ground.

In lieu of a response, or perhaps as one, the man simply smiled at Alfred. It was a devilishly handsome smile. Alfred felt himself growing frustrated, shifting in his boots.

“Sir,” he began again, and the man attacked.

Alfred sprung backwards in a show of agility that would have surprised a stranger unfamiliar with his training. He was a large man, in build and muscle, weighed down with heavy robe and tool, but he moved as if free of any burden, swift and sure footed. The stranger had swung the bundle he carried at him, crashing to the ground inches from where Alfred now stood. It was a bag, a large one, filled with something heavy and stained with various dark fluids he did not need to speculate on the origins of. Dancing back a pace, he readied his blade, unsure of what to think. Clearly, his attacker was no beast, but surely no sane person would dare raise their hand against a servant of the Church.

“What is the meaning of this?”

He ducked back again, stooping to dodge another blow from the bag, which sailed over his head and crashed into a towering heap of rubbish, splintering wood across the alleyway. The man did not say anything at all, grinning fiercely. A pendant bounced on his bare chest, but Alfred could not quite make out its shape.

“What do you stand to gain from attacking me?”

The third time the bag swung at him, Alfred twisted about, stabbing through the fabric with his blade and holding it. The stranger was stronger than him, but it was enough to throw him off balance, clearly not having expected it. Taking advantage of his surprise, Alfred lunged, dropping the sword long enough to take a close-fisted punch at the man’s gut. It hit, hard, the steel knuckles of his gauntlets doing their job. The stranger was startled, but not winded, Alfred’s fist having likely hurt but not injured his solid abdomen. He dropped the sack, grabbing at him. Alfred shot out of reach, withdrawing his blade in the same movement. Despite this, he was suddenly hit with a wave of pressure, as if he had been grabbed by the lapels and was being dragged forward, into the waiting hand of the other man. Far more than his little punch had done, the force made Alfred stumble, coughing out a breath, and he nearly fell exactly as directed.

He broke free just in time. The man swung his bare fist at him, so close Alfred felt the wind of it pass his nose. He staggered, swinging his blade out ineffectively, but it kept his assailant at bay. More than just winding him, the nature of the attack had completely taken Alfred off guard, something arcane and beyond his grasp. The Fair People had magicks like that, he knew, having watched in near ecstatic reverence as He, his Master, had blessed the holy Wheel they fought with, had cloaked his form with, expelled in battle as a weapon, but he had not been expecting it and another hot clench in his chest had him unsteady.

“Why do you fight me?” he said again, the angry growl having left his throat.

“What wickedness has compelled you so?”

Despite having ignored him previously, the stranger did not attack again for a moment, regarding Alfred with a hidden look. It was almost enough for Alfred to let down his guard. Not quite, though. That was what saved him when, almost too quickly to see, the man whipped out, mouth wide open in a hungry smile. Alfred met him halfway, shoulder out, striking the attacker in the solar plexus hard enough to send them both tumbling.

Hitting the ground in a great pile, they rolled in the mud. The stranger lurched up, ready to shred him, but Alfred was ready too. He halted the motion in its tracks when he reached between them, through the man’s robe, and gripped the outline of his cock firmly.

“Whatever has possessed you, I am here to soothe it out.”

The man remained stoic, hands paused in the air, watching as Alfred felt him out.

“As a man of the Church, I cannot allow you to make the mistake of continuing down this treacherous path. I can see you are unwilling to divulge the nature of your grievance with me, but rest assured I will not be deterred so easily.”

He squirmed down, til he was kneeling between the man’s legs.

“Let me drain the evil from your body.”

Evil came in many forms, but it always seemed to travel through fluid. Though Alfred’s grasp of the Church’s more recent texts was loose, he knew they had discovered a great many new things since forming, and this was one of them. The Great Ones communicated through the blood, but so did corruption. Lakes, rivers, and oceans all held holy truth within them, and so in mirroring this the human body must hold truths as well, both pure and tainted. Blood, pus, bile, mucus, things Alfred had very little understanding of but had seen in his few glimpses at the academic research the Choir practiced, or the pamphlets distributed in the Unseen Village by Mensis College. So too he had discovered semen carried importance, both to beasts and to men in sin, and like a dirty wound he had found drawing out the infection often promoted spiritual healing.

In a shocking display of depravity, the man wore nothing beneath his thin black robe. In parallel to this, he did nothing to stop Alfred as he peeled away the cloth, gaze riveted to the fork of his legs. Complimentary to his size, the stranger was in possession of a truly enormous cock and balls, marbled white like his skin, accented with thick, black veins. He seemed to have shaved all his body hair, but Alfred could make out the barest fuzz of white stubble around the base. The tattoos that sanctified his body extended even here, snaking down in long and winding texts to his thighs, to the mound of his pubic bone. Unlike many of the Pthumerians who lived above ground, this man was healthy and strong, his muscles rippling as he shifted, untainted by curse. It was a shame that corruption still tried to claim his soul.

Despite their heated battle, Alfred knew the leather of his gloves was cold, and tried to make up for it by leaning in to accompany his initial strokes with hot kisses, hunching close to the man’s lap. This position exposed his back, turned his eyes from his enemy, a display of weakness and subservience not meant for the man but for those above, the great minds of the Cosmos. He knew they would protect him, in this holy act of sacrifice, and sure enough the next touch he felt was not an aggressive one, but the gentle cupping of a hand around the back of his head and neck, urging him on as the cock between his palms stirred to life.

That hand, so massive compared to his own, made Alfred’s chest flutter. How it reminded him of another, larger still, that used to touch him so, guiding him in prayer, or encouraging him in his lessons. No human could ever come close in size, no matter how advanced their beasthood, until they had lost themselves completely. He had cleansed many souls of the filth of corruption, but none had ever sparked such a thrill in him as this, with his strong fingers barely stroking the curls at the base of his neck, a hand that could crush his head like an egg should it so choose. His cock was hardening quickly, Alfred’s skilled ministrations practiced on many before it but still awed by the sheer mass. It took both his hands to encircle it fully, and no matter how he unhinged his jaw Alfred knew he would never fit the swelling head inside his mouth. Even half erect, it was already wider in circumference than his own closed fist.

Assured by the reactions he was getting, Alfred let his guard down fully. It was impossible to properly engage with the act of cleansing without entrusting his body and soul to the subject of his attentions. He had already begun to pray, silently, for the salvation of this poor man’s soul. Kissing up the bottom of the shaft, Alfred was pleased to feel the blood rushing through his veins, letting the pad of his tongue rest long on them to savor the man’s pulse. He tasted musky, the sweat of a working man, but still clean in the sterile, unsettling way all the Fair People seemed to exist. Master Logarius had often smelled similarly, after a hunt, like both man and mineral, flesh and earth. Alfred drank in the smell, the taste, nuzzling under the heavy length to suck on his balls, slipping deeper into the religious haze of the process.

When he once again had kissed and licked his way to the tip, the man was nearly at full mast, the black head of his cock peeking through his foreskin. Alfred slipped his tongue into the tender sheath, peeling him fully free without use of his hands. The smell of his precum, only just beginning to bead at the slit, was heady and nearly made him swoon, but he stayed fast, determined in his task. The man was sitting back now, relaxing against the boxes of refuse while his dick was worshiped, and Alfred preened internally, certain he was succeeding. Even the most resistant soul wanted to be saved, in the end. They all gave in, once Alfred had shown them his conviction, happy to be relieved of the evil staining their inner eyes blind.

It was over too soon. Popping off the man’s cock, Alfred looked like a porcelain doll, a holy whore. His lips were fucked red, lashes heavy with the unshed tears of straining to take the massive girth, a bit of drool winding down his chin. Through lazy eyes, he gave the would-be kidnapper a glazed look, hands clasped before his chest in dutiful prayer. He stood, and the man almost stood with him, vexed at having been left unfinished, but Alfred held up a finger to halt him, turning away and pulling down his own trousers. He braced himself against the bricks of the alley wall, pulling his robes up and away so that he could display himself in full, sighing softly.

His ass was as fat as it had looked clothed, meaty with muscle but plump enough to jiggle a bit as he positioned himself. Between his legs, his balls fell heavy, dark with long unspent need. Like all good Executioners, he was fitted in a chastity cage, the cruel bars keeping his cock restrained in a lax position, unable to grow erect. Hard as it was now, it strained against the device, pink and painful where the cage’s teeth bit into it in punishment for his lust. Simply exposing his sinful body to the Pthumerian sent another hard pulse of pleasure through him, his cock jumping, aching horribly.

Without his Master to shepherd his chastity, Alfred had entrusted it to the wise men of the Choir, who kept his key safe and sound in their lofty towers. On their demand, he would come to be milked of his wretched essence, when the time was right, restrained upon a holy altar while their members performed the solemn task, jerking his prick to completion while another insistently massaged at his prostate with a cleansed implement until he could cum no more, testes dry and sore, at which point he would pray forgiveness for the baseness of his mortal form and, in pious punishment, drink his own spent semen from the gilded ciborium they’d collected it in. It had been several months since he was last called upon, however, and his balls were taut and full.

Between his buttocks, the stranger could just make out the gleam of another curiosity. Watching him from over his shoulder, Alfred used both hands to pry himself apart, exposing fully the head of a large plug firmly planted inside him. It was made of a softer material, one of the strange and unnatural rubbers invented by the chemists at the College. Keeping himself spread, Alfred began to push the tool out. The muscles in his thighs grew tight, where they could be seen, a look of concentration furrowing his features. Before his voyeur's eyes, his asshole puckered outward, trembling, and then parted. The plug was only about as wide as an average human cock, but as inch by inch it protruded, it became apparent that it was heavily textured. Creeping around the shaft in uneven patterns were rows of lumps and protuberances, clearly intended to cause discomfort in the bowel by stretching it out in strange patterns. It was a tool of discipline, intended to teach even the most dedicated of sodomites to resist their urges. Alfred had taken to wearing it out, when he burned too hot, his body too ugly and blasphemous for him to bear.

The man watched with great interest as more and more pushed out of Alfred’s body, his hole growing redder the more abuse it endured. Along with the tool came glistening lubricants, dripping from him in wet globs that trailed down his inner thighs, gleaming off the back of his balls. Alfred’s face was to the wall, twisted in painful ecstasy at the pleasure of excreting the long rubbery coils that had cramped in his stomach all evening, pinching and pushing at his delicate intestine with every step. Even as the sharp shapes dragged cruelly at his bowel, his body squeezed down harder, trying to expel the irritant, making it hurt worse, feel even more pleasurable. Precum had already begin to leak from the slit at the head of his cage, unable to fully produce semen but drooling lewdly nonetheless. It was an obscene show, and Alfred knew it, penance for his earthly failings, the price he paid for thinking such horrid things.

Alfred had little understanding of the inner workings of his body, could not explain why the drag against his gut sent him into fevered rapture. It hurt, that pressure, pushing him out and misshaping him, each knob grinding wickedly at the turns in his colon, ascending, descending, though, and to him this certified his belief that the act was one of pure penance and purification. Finally, he reached between his legs, grasping at the length and pulling it the rest of the way out. With a sickly slurp, the implement burst free, more than three feet in length, fluid spattering the cobblestones as his asshole initially gaped, revealing his velvety insides, before clamping shut again. Alfred groaned quietly, dropping the toy along the lid of a wooden casket lying in the refuse around them, quivering. The muscle of his hole, inflamed with arousal, had puffed up a bit, clearly accustomed to the abuse it had endured, winking out.

“There,” Alfred said, addressing the stranger again, “My vessel is prepared to wring the scourge from within you. Allow me to cleanse you of your unholy corruption and raise you from perdition.”

With that he pressed both hands to the wall, backing his ass out further, offering himself up. The kidnapper was on him in seconds. The length of his cock was heavy enough to hang low even when fully engorged, knocking between Alfred’s legs, rubbing up between his balls. Alfred pulsed against him, his own prick straining into the teeth of his cage, the pain of his convictions, the suffering he must endure to purify this lost soul. His balls throbbed with pent up seed, like a heartbeat against the thick cock that rubbed him, and then the man grasped his based and lifted his length up higher, laying it between Alfred’s buttocks. He moaned softly, wriggling his hips back to encourage him on, the entirety of his lower body shaking with waves of need, such was his conviction.

His puffy hole kissed the man’s cock hungrily. Rather than giving in right away, the stranger held Alfred’s hips steady, hunching down to mitigate their height disparity, and began to rub against him, feeling the way he twitched and moaned.

“Hurry, do not wait to seek salvation!” Alfred ground out, a particularly thick glob of precum drooling from the confines of his chastity cage. The man rubbed little circles in the skin of his thighs, so close to where he suffered. His bowel felt too empty, clenching on nothing. When the man’s cockhead caught at the rim, it pulled open easily, softened by the abuse, expelling another loud spurt of lubrication that had been forced deep inside him earlier.

The stranger spread two of his enormous fingers around Alfred’s ass, holding him open, watching the way the meat of his buttocks squished under the pressure of his digits. Alfred’s asshole puckered out, dripping.

“Please,” he whispered, “use me.”

The blunt head of the man’s cock pressed against him and Alfred clawed at the bricks, moaning lowly. It had been exciting to feel its size in his hands, against his lips, but to now it was pushing him open and his heart was nearly beating its way free from his breast. A cock like this would tear any normal human open, bigger than a man’s forearm, hard and rough, but Alfred had long trained his body to accept punishments such as this. Nightly, he had abused his hole, with fingers and fist alike, shoving candlesticks in til he stretched too wide and bled, fucking himself on upturned bottles. Later, he had found the great school of Mensis had developed more efficient tools to discipline himself with, such as the one he had wound inside himself this evening, frightening and cruel instruments to torment and tease his deepest recesses. It was imperative that he felt the pain that his brothers in arms surely would have granted him, were they still upon the earth, and even more so the firm and radiant touch of his Master.

That was what excited him so greatly, now. Rare was it for a man of Pthumeru to partake in an act such as this, for his own mortal soul or for Alfred’s. This man was not as large as He had been, not as tall nor as powerful, but he was closer than any human could dream to be. The cold clutch of his flesh, the natural blackness of his nails where they gripped Alfred’s hips steady, the size of him, threatening to destroy him, it all reminded Alfred of his Master’s handsome grace. Sinner that he was, he could not help but fantasize in this moment, imagine what it would have been like to have been receiving guidance from Him now. Bound, beaten and broken from the trial he would most surely have endured to be punished so, his hole raked open by the pear, would Logarius have knelt atop him, a hand nearly spanning Alfred’s entire torso pressing down upon his back to steady him as He lined Himself up? He would be huge, even larger than this, a weapon made to teach him how wrong he was for his desires, piercing his body and plunging up, up, up into his very chest, where his little human heart pounded with love for the holy Martyr.

The head of the stranger’s cock popped inside with an audible, sloppy sound, and Alfred gasped hoarsely. It was so big, so wide, spreading him to his limit. He wanted to squirm, either away or back into it, but resisted the lowly urge, remembering his place, even while visions of long white hair blinded his eyes, knowing he was here to help. He did not have to wait long, the man grunting as he pressed on. His hands rose up to hold Alfred below the ribs, having to thrust his hips in short, sharp jerks to pummel him out, because even stretched as he had been Alfred’s body could not easily take such a beast. The man was not gentle about it, either, each push rocking Alfred onto his toes til he was nearly supported on cock alone.

“Oh, good sir!”

Already that wonderful, horrible fullness was more than he could have imagined, battering open his tender insides inch by inch. His mouth fell open, unable to contain the noise that bubbled in his chest. Not once did he draw out, singlemindedly plunging his cock deeper, past all the space Alfred’s initial passage could allow, bluntly forcing past the twist of his sigmoid colon. Alfred bit the polished leather of his glove, eyes rolling back. His cock was throbbing. The urgency with which they both pursued the task left little time for contemplation, not until he felt a nudge against his backside and then the full, hot slap of the stranger’s testes hitting his own, fully sheathed inside. That was enough to make Alfred squeeze down hard, his balls lifting, as if he could cum in that manner still, a rope of precum dangling from the golden cap of his cage.

The man growled something in his ear, in the old language. Alfred had learned a little of it, years ago, sat at Logarius’s side, just enough to read some of the old texts. He'd never spoken it – humans were not worthy of allowing such holy words cross their tongues, but he could recognize it, and knew that was what the stranger did now, though he did not know what was said. The sound of it, though, spoken in that deep, moonlit voice, resonated across vocal chords in a throat twice the width of a human’s, that made his prostate pound.

Then, he began to pull out, and Alfred got to feel it all over again from the other side. He did not retreat all the way before thrusting back in, and the sudden shift in the pressure behind his cock was so intense that Alfred came immediately. He’d become incredibly adept, in time, at experiencing anal orgasms, though Alfred would not call them that, or by any other name, for admitting to the release of sexual pleasure was more than he could stomach. His dick was still hard, still trapped, all that semen churning in his balls without relief, but his asshole was spasming wildly, shudders traveling up his whole body.

Unrelenting, the man continued to pound him. Alfred could only hold onto the wall, spreading his legs as wide as he could while the pace increased far more quickly than was safe. He dropped his head in a moan and caught sight of his stomach, of how it protruded some where the man’s cock cored him out. He should be torn and bleeding, dying on this wild venture, but he was holding fast, taking him well, as if his body were nothing more than a soft, warm container for dick, made to wring men’s sexual desires dry. Simply seeing himself this way, being fucked like a toy, made him clench tight again, though he could hardly make a difference around the solid length inside him, scrabbling to make purchase against the cobblestones.

The man hitched his hands up under Alfred’s ribs, digging his fingers into the layers of cloth, and lifted Alfred to him, chest to back. He was barely standing for himself now, held at the stranger’s mercy. His body, a purifying vessel, a sleeve for cock. Alfred turned his eyes to the black night sky, barely visible between the towering buildings, lost in ecstasy, in prayer. His hands clasped together even as they supported him, his mouth wide and panting, wet. The man thrust in such a manner that it slammed his gut, and he came again, shaking, milky fluid dribbling from his trapped cock. Did his Master look down upon him now, and approve? Were the Great Ones proud of him, for his attempt to save another sorry soul? Did he deserve the anguish of his belly deforming out with the force of the wretched soul’s dick? Did he bear it well?

They kept coming, the orgasms washing through him like waves, one after another, unrelenting. He could hardly control his seizing muscles, jerking and fluttering to stroke the stranger off. If he could tear himself from his prostration he would reach down and cup the shape of him inside his stomach, masturbate the man’s cock through his own body. Every inch was digging him out, rubbing him open, his prostate helplessly tormented. The vigor with which he was fucked winded him, the man’s balls slapping painfully against his own every time he pushed in fully, taunting him with the impending release he would not be permitted to know. They felt bigger than they had looked, and Alfred thought, as he considered the bleeding of evil, how heavy each one sat, how that jism would soon be pumping inside him. He came again and he couldn’t think of anything else.

The man was beginning to lose control over himself, his own completion approaching, punching into Alfred’s bowels with enough force that he could feel it in his stomach. This probably wasn’t healthy. Something was probably going to break. Alfred’s toes were barely touching the ground as he was held, and all he could do was pray, words slurred together like a drunk between his drooling lips. Those huge, inhuman hands, that held him so easily, like He could have, burned against his chest.

_Use me, use me._

He chewed at the lather of his gloves, the stars of Heaven in his eyes. In his ear, another string of harsh Pthumerian words sent another hard shock of pleasure down his spine, his convulsing ass, his cock. If he died like this, would he become a martyr too?

Roaring against his shoulder, the man crushed him to the wall, and Alfred kicked out in uncontrolled spasms as a hot surge of semen gushed deep in his colon. The man had pushed in to the deepest point he could, and held himself there, only just humping against Alfred to keep the friction going as he came. Alfred’s bowel shuddered up and down with contractions in an effort to expel the thick cock, much further inside him than anything that large should have been, and it only made his eyes roll back in his skull, writhing in intoxication with the love for Him. His stomach was bloating with cum, pressing painfully into the wall he was forced against, the physical stress mirroring the spiritual splendor that consumed him.

Even after the last spurts of jism had left him, the man remained sheathed inside Alfred for a while longer, leaning down to lick and bite at his ear through the sweat darkened golden curls of his hair. All the while Alfred continued to twitch, to cum, babbling holy recitations unintelligibly. He had yet again sucked the dark seed from within this wretch, and had been granted ecstasy. It was almost too much, the strain on his little heart exhausting him. Then the stranger pulled out and Alfred dropped like a stone to his knees, face rubbing red against the rough wall, unable to catch himself or defend his delicate skin or cease his mantras as the pain of being evacuated so suddenly rocked him.

His asshole gaped, loudly belching the thick, pearlescent Pthumerian cum. He’d been so thoroughly debauched that the red lining had pulled out, prolapsed like a yawning wound, his thighs still stuck wide spread. His softened guts throbbed painfully, echoing the pounding of his pulse.

Alfred came back to himself slowly. The sonorous voice of his distant dreams still echoing in his head, he managed to pull himself away from the brick, too aflame to care as grit flaked from the quickly scabbing scrape down his cheek. His clasped hands came apart slowly, the joints feeling sore and locked into place. He did not resist reaching between his legs as the blood flowed back into his fingers, cupping his still engorged cock as if he might soothe it. His gloves were warm from his mouth, and when he tickled between the bars of the cage he visibly pulsed, leaking. It would not be a while yet til he was called to be relieved, and they were going to know, rightfully, the lust he had, simply by looking at him. Too shaken by his experience to care, Alfred squeezed his swollen balls longingly, despite the pain they still burned with from being smacked repeatedly.

The man fixed himself back into his shabby robe quietly, that same, ghostly grace all Pthumerians possessed allowing him to move without detection. The little Executioner was still moaning on the floor, his asshole blooming out like a rosebud. The kidnapper leered at him, the puddle they had made together still growing in the stones. It was going to reek of sex back here for weeks. His sack had not been damaged badly, despite Alfred’s skewering it earlier, laying in the trash nearby. It was crusted with blood, now, though he did not doubt that its occupant had been dead long before their fight. That one had not held much potential, anyways. This one, however, did.

Picking up his weapon, the kidnapper wondered, briefly, if he would be permitted to play with this human more, when the job was done. The staff at Mensis had offered up the perk before. Once, he would have turned up his nose at the proposition, but in these dark days no comfort was to be ignored. The Great Ones had abandoned his people long ago. No point in being stuffy about it now.

With a smile again curling his lips, he turned, using the momentum to swing his sack down into the niche between coffins and garbage where Alfred sat, palming himself in a daze, with enough force to crush the little human bones into dust. Only, Alfred was not there anymore – he was right in front of the kidnapper, and his sword was through his midsection in an instant.

“Oh, dear,” said Alfred, his face a perfect mask of sorrow, “It seems you were too far gone to be saved.”

He twisted the sword in the Kidnapper’s guts, making him hiss, red blood dripping from his mouth. He dropped to his knees, howling in anger, but the wound was fatal, and he knew it. Alfred watched the life drain from those beautiful, deep black eyes with a detached sense of loss, not for the man he had killed, but for another, higher cause, one that he had been unable to fulfill this evening.

Withdrawing his weapon, Alfred flicked the blood from the blade deftly. The body dropped, intestine falling out in a knot around his boots that it took Alfred a moment to untangle himself from. Such a shame. He wobbled over to the sheath of his sword, the great heavy block of stone that made up the head of the kirkhammer, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He’d already been forced to inject himself with a small vial of the Good Blood before standing, just to force back in what had fallen out of his backside. He knew he should have allowed himself to endure the pain of it longer, but his duty came first. Penance could be achieved later, in the private embrace of his chambers, where the only eyes upon him were those of the Great Ones and his radiant, ever present Master.

The thought sent another phantom of orgasm through his veins, and his ruined asshole clenched, cum dribbling down the inside of his pant leg as he walked off into the night.


End file.
